


Rebirth

by asojad



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Game of Thrones Fix-It, Incest, Jealous Jon Snow, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Secret Santa 2019, Targaryen Restoration, joneryssecretsanta, targcest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 21:40:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21945727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asojad/pseuds/asojad
Summary: "Wake dragons from stone and be reborn in salt and smoke"Resurrected and lost, Jon Snow is drawn to Meereen by a dream, a message telling him to seek out the Stormborn and join her cause. There, the Targaryen queen waits and Jon finds the purpose he thought he lost with death. Old secrets are lain bare, magic binds two souls together and a new world is formed.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 24
Kudos: 328





	Rebirth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Reddragon1995](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reddragon1995/gifts).



****

**Rebirth**

> " _Sometimes what's dead must be burned away to make room for new life_ " - Cristen Rodgers
> 
> " _Salinity is the oar of my lungs_
> 
> _as I crawl with busted knees and_
> 
> _drag my legs across the bottom of the sea_
> 
> _onto an island of your heart of night_
> 
> _my pale feet embalmed on your grainy shore_ " - Raymond George Dias

**Fire and Blood**

_Blood_

He had expected to see more blood when he woke on his desk. It became a makeshift slab or pyre, if his friends and done what they should do rather than what fear told them to. Dead men weren't supposed to rise and the fire should have seen to it, yet here he was. Muscles stiff, body freshly cleaned, it was only under his nails that the blood had caked. Melisandre must have missed that in her ministrations.

Most would take to drink after something like this, but each time he lifted the mug, he saw his fingers. It was enough to set the mug back down. Blood, no longer a rich crimson but now a flaking brown. It was the difference between life and death, the past and the present, time and nothing. The sight of it was perverse, horrific, shocking, but still he kept his nails as they were, needing the memory. Something close at hand (so to speak) that proved the madness, he had died, killed, skewered by his own men.

Many nights passed while he was stuck in that single moment. 'For the Watch', it reverberated in him like a heartbeat. 'For the Watch' 'For the Watch' 'For the Watch'. He couldn't stay like this. Eventually, he would have to push himself out of his chair and ready his stunned men for the coming war. Those that at least still remained loyal. So many had fled in the night, not exactly culpable, but offering silent approval to mutiny.

His numbers were dwindling and the dead wouldn't wait...save for one.

He needed courage to get back to his feet, if not that, than at least some energy. At hand, he had nothing but the dazed silence. Somewhere in him was a stockpile of life, a reserve that could arm him against the void that, for a time, engulfed him. That nothing was still breathing down his neck and he was without a weapon.

An hour more and he'd face it, another hour more.

_Fire_

' _Go to Meereen_ ' the dream had said, echoed with the fire's tacit approval. He had told Melisandre of the woman he had seen in his sleep, a willowy figure, overshadowed by a red mask and gold mask. Her eyes were all that was visible, her face well concealed. Quaithe, that was her name. He knew without knowing, though he'd never be able to say how. It meant nothing to Melisandre, but the message was clear.

He had to travel to Meereen. 

She had summoned the flames to ask her Lord of Light, staring deep into the flames with a deep reverence. He never had visions or heard voices in the fire as Stannis had, but this time, Quaithe's voice returned. It was as clear as though her lips brushed against the shell of his ear. ' _Go to Meereen and find the dragons born from stone. Join the Unburnt and move forward, not back._ '

"You must go," Melisandre spoke with finality and severity, the same she employed when advising Stannis. If she was still shaken by her mistaken visions before, there was no sense of it now. "The Lord of Light brought you back for a reason and your place isn't here. You are the Prince that was Promised, but Daenerys Stormborn is Azor Ahai. We cannot win this war without her."

The conviction was enough for him to ready one of Stannis many ships, left without a commander. This might have struck him as absurd once. He was walking away from his vows, abandoning his post and traveling to an unknown land on the word of a dream. Death made a believer of him.

Seated in his cabin, Jon stared into his candle's flame, willing it to show him the woman he was to meet. The waves lapped against the hull and the wood of ship groaned against the silence. He searched the blaze, looking for Daenerys Targaryen, but all that met his eyes were shadows.

None shaped like a woman.

**Sun and Spear**

_Spear_

For someone with such a legacy and fame as Daenerys Targaryen, she was smaller than he expected. A petite figure with a delicate beauty that left him breathless. It wasn't until he saw her seated on her throne, surrounded by spears and shields that the image of a queen appeared. Much like the others in the audience, she awed him as well.

Finding her had been easy, convincing her to join with him had not. As Hours and days passed, he told her of the things he had seen at the Wall and the urgency for her to return to Westeros. He had nothing to offer her, no crown to lay at her feet or army to join her forces. There was only himself and his earnestness.  
Ser Barristan was one of the lone voices to speak in Jon's defense, knowing the honor of the son matched the father. Daario Naharas believed Jon couldn't be trusted and urged Daenerys to send him to her dragons. The knight held better sway and Daenerys was willing to give the Stark bastard a chance.

"Support me as queen when this war is over and I will come to your aid. I only ask for a guarantee that this act will be returned."

"Your grace, if there is a world after this, I'll call you my queen. Our odds are not good."

At that, she smiled coyly. "I have faced worse with fewer numbers. You traveled halfway across the world to find me, Jon Snow. You must have a little faith."

_Sun_

Set against the blazing sun, her silver hair turned white. She was near ethereal, standing out against a sea of thousands. Freed men, former slavers, Dothraki and Unsullied, crowded around her whenever she walked among them. A shaky peace was restored to Meereen and soon a council would rule in her stead, chosen by the people. It was her one condition before setting sail, as she refused to let the abhorrent practice of slavery return. She had worked tirelessly to root it out, she would not let that rot fester again.

Jon had sent word back to the Wall, urging Davos and Edd to oversee the training of their ragged group. They might not turn the tide of battle, but every pair of hands that could lift a weapon had to fight. He had to bring something to this partnership.  
Especially as it seemed there were some who brought more.

As the dust of the war settled, ships appeared in the harbor, each bearing the emblem of a different House. Suitors, an unmarried queen was naturally going to attract them. Every major House in Westeros would fight for her hand and the chance to be king.

First came a prince from Dorne, handsome and easy going. He was content to listen to his ministers talk about his merits while he leaned back in his chair. He didn't say much, but his face spoke of confidence and ease. It was more than a haggard bastard of Winterfell could offer.

After was a Tyrell cousin, now Lord of Highgarden. His clothes were more spectacular than his face, but he had wealth at his disposal. Despite Cersei's efforts, she hadn't managed to drain the Reach's coffers. Daenerys needed ships and swords and the Tyrell lord was glad to place them all at her feet.

There was no lord from the Riverlands or the Vale, but Robin Arryn sent a representative in his name. It wasn't Petyr Baelish, thankfully. Instead, an older knight. He had a rigid sense of honor and decorum, pledging everlasting fielty from the young lord. It was chivalry he offered, that and soldiers that had yet to see combat. They were more well rested than the Unsullied and likely to fight better than men of the Night's Watch.

Daario, not to be outdone, had somehow convinced the Golden Company to join Daenerys. Whether it was ruthless persuasion or the felled head of Harry Strickland, Jon didn't know. They broke their vow to serve only Blackfyres and joined the Targaryen side.

Daenerys, for all of the attention, never showed her hand or let them glimpse her mind. She was gracious and welcoming, but didn't commit to one suitor or the other. She smiled at them, hosted them and housed them in comfort, but kept her plans to herself. She always seemed to notice Jon stewing to the side, returning his heated gaze with one of sympathy.

An unmarried queen wasn't wise, he understood that, but it didn't keep him from nearly choking with envy. A rag tag bunch couldn't compare to ships or gold, nor could his bastard name.

He wasn't her equal, even if she treated him as one.

**Falcon and Moon**

_Moon_

"Come with me," she had whispered. She had found him restless and pacing the garden. Despite the time that had passed, he still feared the dark and the emptiness of sleep. It was too close to the void, to the nothing he had seen after death. He dreaded his empty room and she seemed to sense it.

With her hand in his, she lead him back to her room and the comforting silence of the night. She listened to his story as he finally unburdened his soul. She soothed him with gentle words and then later with kisses. The salt of his tears mixed with the taste of her tongue. Arms wrapped tightly around him, rooting him into place and guarding him against the night.

He buried his grief in her warmth again and again. Their bodies shuddered together, staggering under pleasure and the delicate gaze of the moonlight. It was only after, when they were stretched on her bed that he could see the glorious white of her body.

She was a snow maiden. A Snow's maiden, in fact.

His, as he was hers, at last.

_Falcon_

The falcon circled lazily before stooping and diving towards its prey, the attack sudden and swift. 'No warning', Jon ruminated. No different than the letter he received from Sam. The packet he had been sent lay discarded at his side. Sam had written that Jon would understand the importance when he read through it. 'Aye, importance,' but that wasn't even the right word for it.

Shattering? That seemed closer, but still couldn't encompass the wide range of his emotions.

The journal had been largely insignificant. The Maester that had written it seemed more obsessed with architecture and counting than actually documenting history. It wasn't until he came across the throw away line ' _7,560 window panes where Prince Rhaegar took Lyanna Stark as his wife_ ' that he understood. It was innocuous, but signficant. Not the window panes; Jon couldn't understand for the life of him why the Maester had bothered to count them, let alone record them. The marriage, that held Jon's attention.

Rhaegar Targaryen had taken Lyanna Stark as his wife. The legend he had been told since he was a boy was a lie...

...as much of a lie as his life. Not that farther in the journal, the Maester wrote of the Tower of Joy, the number of stones it had taken to build that structure, and the last days of Lyanna Stark. Once again, it was a passing mention. ' _12,987 stones made up the main chamber where Lyanna Stark died in childbed._ ' She deserved better than that for a eulogy, his aunt...no, his mother.

It hadn't taken much to put it together. He knew Ned Stark had found her dying and that somewhere in Dorne, he had acquired Jon Snow, the child that he brought home along with his sister's body.

Even Daenerys, not knowing the significance of Ned's honor or his love for Lyanna, understood what this meant.

"Do you regret it?" She asked him, her body flush against his, naked and dotted with sweat. The rush of their efforts and the fury of their lovemaking had relieved Jon of some of the stress, but not enough to help him fall asleep.

"Regret what?"

"Us, this."

Maybe he should. She was his aunt, his closest relative. Set against the loss of innocence and the shattered peace of his childhood, this was only a grain of sand. He couldn't bring himself to care. He needed her, craved her...and this was what Targaryens did, right? Magic bound them together, as firmly as the link between him and Ghost. All of it went beyond him, but somewhere deep down, he imagined that Targaryen blood called to Targaryen blood. He was meant to be hers, just as Drogon was meant to be her dragon.

"No," he brushed a loose curl from her face, using it as an excuse to caress her cheek. "I came here after finding out, didn't I?" And this honestly wasn't the hardest aspect to swallow. "My mother was with me the entire time and I didn't know it." Now the Boltons held Winterfell and her tomb was no longer safe. He had to get it back, he had to keep his mother safe and all the kings that stood with her.

"You're a true Targaryen now," he could feel her grinning, even as she pressed her lips to his neck.

"There will be less objection about us marrying now, Dany."

"I don't care about that. My men already know that you're here. They have seen you come and go from my chambers enough to understand. When we set sail, I wasn't going to bother giving us separate cabins."

"When was I going to find this out? When my things were carried to your room?"

"You wouldn't defy your queen, would you?"

His smiles were less rare around her it seemed, given how often he was grinning like a fool. "I wouldn't dare."

"Good, now show me again how much you don't mind us, this."

Of course, his body was ready and willing to obey.

**Gold and Rose**

_Rose_

He had made her a crown of winter roses the night before. Dany had insisted on it, wanting to wear a remembarance for his mother as they exchanged vows before the Weirwood tree. Snow fell over the godswood, dusting the deep blue petals and turning her into a true Northern bride.  
Winterfell had been easily won. Ramsay could never stand against the ferocity of the Unsullied and the sheer might of the Dothraki. He had attempted to wait out Daenerys' forces in a siege, but the moment she flew Drogon overhead, he knew the battle was lost. There were no Starks to keep Winterfell, but somehow Jon doubted that his mother's ancestors minded.

When he had gone below to the crypts to pay respect to her and to Ned Stark, he had found a small tunnel hidden behind the walls. There, he discovered a collection of dragon eggs, now turned to stone from age, but apparently waiting for him. That no one else had found them before showed that he belonged in this keep as much as any wolf. A dragon had rested at Winterfell before and its young had stayed through the years. The same could be said for him.

During their journey to Westeros, Daenerys had shared stories with him, the history of their House. Jon listened patiently, but eventually asked to be told about Rhaegar, his father, and the siblings he would never know. There wasn't much Daenerys could share, as she was born after they had died, but what little she knew, she offered.

Rhaenys had been closer to their father and had a kitten named Balerion. Aegon had still been small but possessed the fair hair of the Targaryens. Neither had a clear personality in Jon's mind, but these small details were something, better than the nothing he knew before. It kept some part of them alive in his heart, and once the wars were settled, he would seek out whatever information he could. If only so his own child could come to know their aunt and uncle, even after death.

When they had landed in White Harbor, Daenerys was sure that she was pregnant. The news shook her more than it had Jon. He had been expecting it, disregarding her insistence that it was impossible. Magic had brought him back to life and lead them together, magic would give them a child as well.

She was bigger now, their son or daughter kicking her fiercely during the night. He could feel the gentle thump against his palm as he held Daenerys in his arms.

Twins, that was what the new Maester of Winterfell had told them. She was having twins.

"An Aegon and a Rhaenys," Daenerys had whispered to him.

"It could be two girls or two boys."

"No, it's a son and daughter. I know it."

Beneath the white branches of the Heart Tree, as the red leaves unfurled, Jon married Daenerys. They were vows he had murmured to her before during the heat of their lovemaking. To be hers from that day until his last. Now, they were solidified and sealed under the watchful gaze of the Old Gods.

_Gold_

There was little gold in the crown she had made for him, preferring black and silver to suit the dragon and wolf emblems he had adopted. It was simple in his mind, better fitting the monarchy she meant to establish. Her own wasn't that ostentatious either. It was a crown of three dragons intertwined, one black, one green and one gold.

She had melted down the Iron Throne, installing in its place a simple stone bench. It was closer to the ground so that her eyes could be leveled with whatever petitioner came before her. "I'm their queen, but it's the people that supported me. I don't want to be above them, listening from some austere throne. I want to know that being a queen is my duty and I serve them as much as they serve me."

Even from her childbed, Daenerys worked tirelessly to rennovate and redecorate the Red Keep to suit her vision. Gone were the severe emblams of the Lannisters, now replaced by a wolf and a three headed dragon. There were flowers again, just as there had been in Robert Baratheon's day, but they didn't simply cover the pillars. They were wrapped around the dragon skulls brought from the cellars. The daunting creatures were given new life and light, just as Westeros had.

The wars were over, though the telling of how, he would leave to better storytellers. Already the Maesters were writing a new history book, focusing on the defeat of the Night King and the Targaryen restoration that followed.

Sam had joked that it should be called "A Song of Ice and Fire", but there were better titles in Jon's opinion. When it was finished, he would read it to his children, the son and daughter Dany had known she was carrying. Aegon and Rhaenys, soon to have a third head of the dragon, as Daenerys was pregnant once more.  
He would read the story of his life, taken once but given back anew. He would tell them about the Targaryens that had come before and the paths that had lead them to this moment. Those that had fallen wouldn't be forgotten but allowed a second awakening. True, they might only exist in stories, but that would be enough.

Even the smallest among them had cast a large shadow for a time.

There would be more history books to follow, recounting Dany's and his reign, their children's and the Targaryens after them. Dragons had been woken from stone and were reborn admist salt and smoke. It wasn't just the Night King that Azor Ahai and the Prince that was Promised vanquished, it was the long night of uncertainty and fear.

The Targaryens had come again and the world, he hoped, would know peace.


End file.
